


Six Minions and a Scarf

by misura



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: older_not_dead, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-26
Updated: 2011-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 19:32:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade gets sick. Mycroft shows he cares. Sherlock sends text messages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Minions and a Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Mycroft/Lestrade, I can't be around sick people_

On Lestrade's first sickday, Sherlock sends him a text saying: _Hope you get well soon. SH_ and Lestrade spends a whole five seconds feeling sort of touched before he figures out that Sherlock probably just dislikes being inconvenienced by Lestrade being laid up at home, instead of out on the streets or at the office, finding crime scenes.

And then he gets ambushed by Mycroft's minions in his living room and he figures that maybe Sherlock hasn't so much sent him a get-well-soon by text as he's sent him a piece of well-intended and completely bloody useless advise.

 

"Tea sounds lovely, thanks," Lestrade mutters, when Minion Number Two puts down a mug of tea on the table in front of him. Minion Number One has vanished somewhere upstairs, while Minions Three and Four are doing the dishes. Minions Five and Six are doing laundry, while Minions Seven and Eight are doing things to his phone and front door. Lestrade isn't sure what; when Mycroft started spending the night on occasion, he rather took it for granted his apartment would be either bugged to the gills or else swept completely clean every other day or so.

Great sex always comes at a price, and (he told himself at the time) at least Mycroft wouldn't be bugging him for alimony, after. Small blessings, and all that.

His phone buzzes to indicate another text. _Fluids important if flu. SH_

Lestrade wonders if Mycroft texts. It seems possible, at least.

 _Fluids also important if not flu. SH_

Turning his phone off might stop Sherlock from texting him, but then he'd also be out of reach to anyone else who might call. (Blocking Sherlock's number is pointless; he'll simply use someone else's phone.) Plus, Lestrade reasons, there's always a chance Sherlock will actually text him with something useful.

When he looks up, Minion Two is looking pointedly from him to the mug and back again.

"I hear fluids are importants when you've got the flu," Lestrade says. Any idiot could have looked that up on the Internet - it's not exactly a brilliant bit of deduction or anything.

"Quite," Minion Two says. Her smile is strictly professional. It says that she will hurt him if he doesn't take his medicine like a good boy. Lestrade would guess her to be a schoolteacher or maybe a prison guard, not some kind of female James Bond. It takes all sorts, he supposes.

The tea doesn't taste so bad, really.

 

Not taking into account the part where he's not allowed to do anything by himself, or go out for a bit of fresh air and a leg-stretching, or is being bullied into eating and drinking and swallowing whatever is put in front of him, the whole situation's not so bad, really.

Sherlock keeps texting him. Mycroft keeps not texting him. Lestrade keeps ignoring the first and not caring about the second; Mycroft is a busy man with many duties and while Lestrade is, of course, an idiot compared to Sherlock, generally speaking, he isn't.

 _Flu does not cause weight loss. SH_

Lestrade wouldn't know how to respond to that one even if a response would be called for.

 

On Thursday, Lestrade starts making escape plans. Theoretical ones, of course.

It's not so much that he thinks Mycroft might be annoyed if Lestrade makes good his escape from his minions as he thinks doing so might hurt Mycroft's feelings.

Perhaps, he muses while waiting for Sherlock's next text for lack of anything else to do, he is somewhat of an idiot, after all. He's pretty much given up hope of receiving any sort of communication from Mycroft other than the fairly clear message represented by the minions.

 _Nobody likes a fusser. SH_

 

Friday, Lestrade makes some cautious noises about going back to the office; he's feeling pretty well; they've taken excellent care of him these past days; they must have other things to do more vital to the security of Queen and country.

He ends up on the couch in front of the telly again, with more of that herbal tea, but Minion Five retreats to a corner with his phone - texting Mycroft, perhaps, which would mean Mycroft does, indeed, text. It's well into the morning by then.

Lestrade drinks his tea and watches reruns of Doctor Who. If he tries, he can almost pretend he's all by himself, just having a day off and sipping disgusting herbal tea his mother's told him will be good for him.

 _Uninspired so quite your usual style. SH_

 _?_ Lestrade texts back, feeling that enough is enough - the minions have all left the room to do who knows what, too, so he's gotten at least the illusion of having some privacy.

 _Not talking to you. SH_ Sherlock texts back, a full hour later, which seems rather obviously a lie. The minions have all vanished though, so Lestrade is in too good a mood to take offense or text back.

 

Saturday morning, the minions are back - two of them, at least. Lestrade finds them in his kitchen, preparing the kind of breakfast he never makes for himself.

"You," Minion Three says. "Back to bed."

Lestrade thinks that if he could make it to his car, he wouldn't really have anywhere to go.

He goes back to bed, surprises himself by falling asleep again. Wakes up to the smell of breakfast two hours later. Wonders if Mycroft really has minions who can take that long to prepare breakfast. It seems inefficient.

"Gregory." Mycroft should look out of place carrying a breakfast tray. His suit is impeccable. "Good to see you up and about again." His smile is fond - warm, certainly. No woman save his mother has ever quite smiled at Lestrade like that, certainly no woman who is rather more familiar with his bedroom than his mother is.

Lestrade considers smiling back. "Good of you to come and visit."

"Please, don't mention it." Mycroft puts the tray down. The flowers are missing, but there's a package. It doesn't tick, so Lestrade assumes it's some sort of gift. "Eat something."

"Smells good." Lestrade's stomach rumbles, and Mycroft's smile widens slightly.

 

"Oh good," is Sherlock's comment on the scarf. "Might as well wear a shirt saying 'please strangle me'."

"It's a nice scarf," Lestrade says good-naturedly. "Soft and warm."

"Might keep you from catching another cold, eh?" Doctor Watson offers, clearly unaware of the scarf's origin.

"Too long," Sherlock says dismissively. "Impractical."

For all of his sharp edges and peculiarities, Lestrade's never really had trouble handling Sherlock. Just takes some getting used to, is all. "You want in on this case, or not?"

Mycroft, on the other hand - well. Lestrade has got several recipes for chicken soup he'd love to try out on someone unable to run away and not the first idea where Mycroft might be found if he were to catch the flu or something along those lines.


End file.
